


What You Had, What You Lost

by matanee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brainwashing, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stockholm Syndrome, also HYDRA is a complete jackass here, but clint makes vines, its adorable, more like lukin is, oh shit this fic got deep halfway through, so that's a small ray of fluff innit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matanee/pseuds/matanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"He looks torn, confused, and Steve can't help but feel the same way. How is he supposed to listen to a torn and confused man, believe anything he says or asks, if Steve is just as torn and confused?</i>
</p><p>  <i>How is he supposed to trust anyone when he doubts everyone?"</i></p><p> </p><p>Steve is found by HYDRA after he crashes the plane. They make sure their Winter Soldier would have a worthy wingman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Had, What You Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Borrowed Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792525) by [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva). 



> I read 'Borrowed Time' by heeroluva and look at what happened. I'm not even sorry.
> 
> I'm working on so many fics at the same time that it's beginning to drive me crazy, but this fic was so important to me from the very first moment that I finished it as soon as I could. English is not my native language and this is pretty much unbeta'd, but I was trying my best spotting any mistakes while reading it through for the fifth time. If there are any mistakes left, please forgive me for them.
> 
> Now I come with companion fanmixes, so I highly advise you to listen to this mix while reading: http://8tracks.com/thranduilistic/in-the-stillness-of-remembering
> 
> Enjoy the pain!

The room they take him is swimming in a greenish, mostly grey light. The first smell he can distinguish is mould and rain, but he doesn't stop to look around. He follows the man in the white cape and only stops when he is told. His limbs feel too heavy and his head feels way too foggy for his liking but he ignores it and keeps staring straight ahead.

He doesn't look around but he sees many people in this room - it is a change. All the other rooms he's been so far were mostly empty, save for a few other doctors and some armed guards. Here many people are sitting behind desks and running what seems like experiments, not paying attention to him at all. He barely feels anything, not even when a man rises from one of the tables and walks towards him. He has a moustache and a goatee, very sharp cheekbones and crystalline, piercing blue eyes. He wears the white cape too and takes in the sight of the man in front of him.

Then, he smiles.

"How is he?" His question is meant for the man standing next to him, not the one in front of him. He doesn't take his eyes off the latter, though, and his smile is even wider than before.

"Stable. His brain is clean, his muscles work perfectly. He's ready for the mission, sir."

For the word 'mission' he feels something electric in his chest that spreads through his entire body. Suddenly, he's looking at the man with the goatee and waits, as if he's expecting something. The words stumble out of his mouth without thinking.

"What is the mission?" He is somehow surprised to hear himself speak this language and it feels strange on his tongue but he shoves the thought to the back of his mind. It doesn't matter.

Only the mission matters.

"Easy now, soldier," the blue eyed man answers on the same language, a very pleased look plastered all over his face. "Do you know your name?"

The man who gave the report a minute ago opens his mouth to speak but the other man raises his hand and stops him from talking. The 'soldier' feels conflicted for a moment, obviously sensing that the man with the goatee expects something from him. He goes with the only answer he knows is true.

"I don't have a name. Names are irrelevant," he says, his voice rough, as if he was screaming for too long. He shoves this thought away as well. He doesn't remember screaming at all.

"Now that just won't do," the man answers, his smile ever present on his face, and he steps closer. The 'soldier' doesn't move, not even an inch. Then, there is a hand on his shoulder, and the warmth of the palm sends goosebumps down his arm. He wears a shirt but the touch is real and he feels it. It's like he's made of ice. "Your name is Steven. You will only listen to this name and this name only, do you understand me?"

Steven nods and the man seems pleased.

"Before your first mission is given to you, I would like to see what you're capable of," the man continues. His voice is like silk and Steven doesn't even blink. "You are going to show that to me very soon. If I am pleased with your results, we will trust you with making the world a better place. You are going to be a hero, Steven. But first, you will show me what's inside you."

Steven nods again, earning another huge smile from the man and a pat on his shoulder. Then, the man gives a quick look to the one beside him before he turns around and walks back to his table.

Steven is taken back to the room with only few people and three armed guards. He is told to sit in the chair so he does and waits for the time he can show "what's inside him".

Whatever that might mean.

  
*

  
He doesn't see the man with the goatee for a long time after that. He can't tell how long it is exactly. Nothing changes around him while he's in the chair, nothing but the guards. The doctors are the same, the smell is the same, the lights are the same. He loses his sense of time, but he doesn't care. It's not relevant.

He was told to wait. He waits.

When the man reappears, Steven can't help the small anticipation that is inside him. Most of the time, feeling cold doesn't bother him. It is only when he remembers how warmth actually feels, that's when he starts to feel uneasy. These are thoughts he can easily forget about, but seeing the man in the white cape, for the first time, he feels something other than cold.

"The time has come, Steven," the man smiles and spreads his arms. "Stand up, come on."

Steven stands and ignores how weak his knees feel. He hasn't been using his muscles for longer than he cares to remember, but he stays on his feet, staring right at the man in front of him.

"Follow me," he says and turns towards the door. Steven stays behind him, walking out of the door with the armed guards right next to him.

They lead him through corridors he has never seen before. The smell of mould follows him but eventually fades, once they enter a room with blindingly white walls. It's a giant room, bigger than anywhere he's ever been so far. There is no furniture, only a door on his left that leads into a smaller room with a glass window. There are people inside but they don't care about Steven or the other people.

When the man stops, Steven stops as well. He only has eyes for him and the older man turns to him with yet another wide smile.

"This is where you are going to show me all your skills. It's hand-to-hand combat, nothing you've never been trained to do before," he nods reassuringly. "Your opponent has some advantage compared to you, but your advantage compared to him is that he was trained as a sniper. He's an excellent soldier, just like you, and I need you to take him down for me. Can you do that?"

Steven nods, almost too keenly, but the man only mirrors his movement and winks at him.

"No killing, Steven. Just take him down. You'll see, it's going to be easy."

Then, the man with the goatee enters the smaller room and sits down behind the glass window, talking to the others inside. Steven chooses this moment to properly look around, go a little further inside, see if there's anything he can use to his advantage.

The noise behind him makes him turn around, back towards the door where they came in a few minutes ago. There are more armed guards now, and a man in white, similiar clothes to Steven's. He's too far away for Steven to properly see his face, but he can tell from the broad shoulders and the way this man moves that he is going to be Steven's opponent. His dark brown, long locks are everywhere around him and the moment he stops in front of Steven, he can see that his eyes are even darker than his hair.

It's only then that Steven sees the metal arm. There is a huge, red star painted on his shoulder and Steven takes it in, looking for possible weak points.

_You'll see, it's going to be easy._

_I need you to take him down for me._

_For me._

Steven lunges forward before the dark haired man could catch up with the moment. Steven can feel his muscles stretching with every hit, every kick, every push and every step. He hasn't been using his body for too long and he needs time to warm up - unfortunately, it's not the same with the other man. The man with the robotic arm is quick, aims perfectly and doesn't waste a moment. There is soon blood all over Steven's white shirt, coming from his split lip and his nose. His opponent is unharmed, circling around Steven with the same look on his face he had the moment he stepped inside the room.

_I need you to take him down for me. Can you do that?_

It's the first time the metal armed man finds himself on the ground, face first. Steven is kneeling on the small of his back, twisting his arms behind him with everything he's got. He's wheezing and the metal arm is desperately trying to escape his hold. Steven sees as the iron plates are changing their position, moving on top of each other, focusing strength to different spots. Steven is too distracted by holding it down to notice the flesh arm ripping out of his grip, then, the next thing he feels is the wall against his back. It momentarily kicks the breath out of his lungs but he can't stay down for too long. The man is already on his feet, and Steven has to take him down.

He must.

He ignores the taste of blood in his mouth when he pulls himself up and they approach each other slowly. The metal arm makes sounds it most certainly hasn't made so far and Steven feels a smirk creeping on his face. Adrenaline heats his body and it finally doesn't feel so cold anymore. He wipes his mouth and lets his gaze run over the other man, a move that his opponent probably doesn't like. He lunges forward and attacks.

It's real hand-to-hand combat this time, punches and cracking bones, mixed with the odour of blood. Steven is not the only one bleeding now and there must be a dislocated ankle as well because his opponent stumbles for a moment, long enough for Steven to grab his neck and raise him from the ground. He feels lighter than Steven expected, but, even malfunctioning, the metal fingers dig into his flesh painfully enough that the blond winces. He smashes the brunet against the floor and his pulse is drumming in his ears as he grabs the flesh arm. It snaps like a stick and his opponent screams, the first real sound he made during the entire fight. If it sounds somehow familiar from somewhere, Steven ignores it.

It's not difficult from there. The metal armed man is not a real threat anymore, only a desperate, exhausted being trying to get out of Steven's hold. There is a push that momentarily kicks Steven out of his momentum but, even lying on the ground, it's not hard to get a good hold on the other's neck, choking him with his lower arm. The metal arm is trapped inside Steven's knee and the broken arm is useless. The sound of the brunet fighting for air fills the room and it slowly breaks through Steven's rapid heartbeat. He tightens his hold and breathes steadily, waiting for his opponent to stop moving. Long seconds pass and the brunet is still struggling, his eyes are trying to find Steven's but they can't.

And then, the door to the small room opens and the man with the goatee appears.

"Let him go, Steven."

Just like that, his hold on the other man is completely gone and the brunet inhales loudly, rolling out of Steven's arms onto the floor. The blond rises onto his feet a little slower than before but he's standing straight in front of the older man. He's heaving, but he's still in better shape than the other man on the floor. From the smile he earns, he feels a small wave of pride washing over him.

"That was very pleasing, Steven. Truly, your opponent has never been defeated before. You are the first to claim that title," he says and Steven smiles. All of these emotions are way too new for him, too alien. They make him feel alive. "Help him up. You are going to be partners from now on."

Steven does as he's told and holds out an arm for the other man on the ground. The brunet looks up at him with dark, bitter eyes, but the moment he tries to raise his right arm his face flinches. He doesn't even try the other: after every little movement it makes loud noises and the brunet's jaw clenches. He tears his eyes from Steven so the blond wouldn't see the pain in them.

"Gather the prep team, our Winter Soldier is going to need some fixing before we wipe him," Steven hears the distant sound of the old man's voice as he walks away, but he can't look away from his opponent. He was told to help him up, though, so he kneels down and wraps one arm around the other's waist, pulling him up like that. The moment the metal armed man feels Steven's warmth against him through the shirt, he looks at the blond with slightly widening eyes, and Steven steps back.

They look at each other for a very long time before the guards come and lead Steven away. Twenty minutes later, he doesn't remember ever meeting the metal armed man.

  
*

  
A few days later, they cut his hair and shave him. It's strange how all those people wear gloves when they are near him and, somewhere deep inside, he longs for the warmth. He might have forgotten many things, but never how nice warmth felt against his cold skin. How nice contact felt like. None of these people touch him, they just do their jobs, complete their orders and put him in black clothes, put all kinds of weapons on him. Grenades, knives, guns, things that feel unfamiliar against the palm of his hand.

When he is allowed to leave the room, they lead him to the one with the tables and all those people inside. He remembers leaving this room the other day, his body aching, his head feeling like it could snap in two. The pain faded away gradually - now it's only a phantom memory that's slipping out of his brain.

The old man with the goatee is in there, and so is another man all dressed in black. His clothes seem way more used than Steven's, his left, metal arm is shining in the dim light and he stands there, his back straight, his face blank. Steven stops next to him and folds his hands in front of his thighs as he watches the man in front of them carefully.

He smiles when he looks at them.

"Steven, I would like you to meet James," he nods towards the metal armed man and Steven follows his gaze, only to meet the darker one of James. He has no emotions on his face whatsoever, and Steven turns back to the older man. "You faced him the other day, you fought against him. You defeated him."

Steven isn't bothered by not remembering the fight, but James tenses ever so slightly. The blond doesn't care, he only straightens even more.

"You are going to be partners. Do you know what that means?"

The man is speaking to both of them now but they don't respond. Steven knows he isn't answering because he isn't sure, but he doesn't know why James stays silent.

"You are going on missions together from now on. You will fight together, not against each other," the man explains slowly, and Steven feels a tiny jolt of satisfaction that he guessed the answer. Now he's sorry he didn't say it before. "However, the mission always comes first. If it comes down to the success of the mission, the other's safety is only secondary. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," they say in unison, and the man nods. His face is serious, and Steven burns his words into his mind.

"You are not allowed to interact, only if it's necessary. You are going to receive the intel on the locations of the safehouses, in case the mission goes wrong. I'd rather it doesn't," he continues and he speaks on a tone that makes Steven feel colder than how he usually is. And that is way too cold to begin with, he just can't fathom why. "This first mission won't take you far, given that it's your first mission together. It's in Okinawa, Japan. You have 72 hours to complete the mission and exterminate the target. When it's done, James will know what to do."

James only nods in agreement but he keeps staring into space, not directly at the man in front of them. Steven watches his profile until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder again, only it's not as intense as the last occasion he can barely recall the memory of. He still closes his eyes for a second, storing the feeling in the back of his mind before he looks at the man with the goatee. He's smiling now, switching his gaze between the two of them.

"You will make us proud. It is you who will make the world remember and fear our beautiful Motherland. Europe will fear us. The rest of Asia will fear us. Even the Americans will fear us."

At the mention of the Americans, Steven feels a strange rush of disgust in his body, and the man watches him so closely, his pleasure is immediately visible in his icy gaze. Steven steals a glance at James, but he's standing like a statue, no emotions whatsoever.

Steven can't decide whether to envy or pity him for it.

  
*

  
The first few missions go without any glitch. The targets are eliminated in time, the debriefings go easy and quick. They go on five missions in a row, all of them are successful, and Steven feels like smiling sometimes. It happens to him more and more often, this rush of feelings just washing over him, and whenever he gives in to the urge, he catches James stare at him with those emotionless eyes. His smile drops at first, thinking he's doing something wrong, but he just can't help himself afterwards, not even when they are back at the base. Over there, it's not just James that stares, it's basically everyone. Steven thinks it's because James never shows emotions and it's new, seeing an asset who does. (It's not the case, but he never learns that.)

"I highly recommend wiping him, sir," one of the doctors tell the man with the goatee and Steven stands there, looking around the room curiously. He's never been here before and he watches the chairs carefully. They are connected to complicated machines, ones that Steve can't recognize. He wonders what they do. "He's becoming unstable. He's showing emotions, it could have unseen consequences."

The old man stays silent and Steven can feel his eyes on him so he turns his head. He gives a small smile that the other tentatively returns. Steven's immediately widens and his chest feels a bit tighter than before. He can't quite put his finger on it, but it feels like excitement.

"What's wrong with a little bit of smiling?" the old man wonders and the doctor makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

"It always begins with that, sir. You mustn't forget what happened to the other asset after not being properly wiped for the time of multiple missions," the doctor explains quietly and Steven soon loses interest in what he has to say. He doesn't understand any of it, anyway. He feels the urge to walk around the room and explore the machines, but he knows his orders so he stays put. "They start to remember things, one by one. Then, they go back to places they feel drawn to. They don't report after the mission is done, the Winter Soldier even abandoned a mission to return to Brooklyn. It's not a risk we can afford, sir."

At the mention of Brooklyn there is a stinging pain around Steven's heart but he ignores it, staring down at his shoes. He's still in the clothes he wore on their latest mission, but he doesn't feel uncomfortable. James looked hell of a lot more battered than him but, then again, he did most of the job, as always.

"I am much more optimistic about this one. He was found with very serious amnesia, wasn't he? There wasn't much to wipe from his brain to begin with, he didn't even know his own name," the old man says, his voice quieter than before, but Steven hears every word. He doesn't give any indication that he is listening, though, and he isn't paying that much attention. "From the Winter Soldier, we had to take away a personality that he clinged to with all ten fingers. For Steven, what we gave him was a blessing. A new chance. He won't betray us. In exchange, we can really let him smile a little, can't we?"

The doctor doesn't seem convinced at all, but Steven only looks up and smiles to prove the other man right. He smiles back with kindness in his eyes and tells the guards to escort him back to his room, take off his clothes and give him intel on the next mission.

Steven swallows a _'thank you'_ that's already on his tongue.

  
*

  
He doesn't remember sleeping before, but he does now. What welcomes him is a vivid dream of someone with no face falling from a train, red lipstick, and cold. Freezing cold, aching in his bones.

He screams in English, a language that finally feels right, even if the words make no sense at all. Random words, names, falling from his lips, shaking the walls in their foundations. He only calms down when they sedate him, then, the bed is moving through corridors, sometimes too quickly for him to bear and sometimes way too slowly.

The next morning, he doesn't remember ever sleeping before.

  
*

  
The next few missions are a little bit longer and not that easy to complete. They have to go undercover for days, they have to stay in hotel rooms and look out of the window for hours and, most of the time, Steven is not even sure what they are looking for. James never speaks to him, like Steven isn't even there, and Steven wants to speak but he knows he can't.

He knows he's been on missions before, and the gaps in his memory bother him, even though the doctors said it's completely fine. He was told that he has amnesia, but he was also told not to think about it. All there is to think about is the mission, and that James will guide him through everything. The man with the goatee back at the base even told him that, if he learns how to finish a mission on his own, he can go out there alone to eliminate targets. It felt nice, especially when everything ached and his mind felt empty.

He is yet to understand most of these things, but he learnt that the mission should be his primary concern. He is sure it's because of the mission that he pushes James out of the way of a bullet.

James is ready to pull the trigger at the target when the blond catches sight of another sniper in the window of the building across the street, aiming right at James. As Steven pushes him aside, James manages to shoot someone else instead of the target. They fall on top of each other and it's the first time Steven hears James speak at all. It's a long line of curses in Russian (he somehow figured it out one day, after being bothered for so long about not remembering the name of the language), and then James is frowning at him with anger twisting his face.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he hisses at Steven in English and the blond can't muster up a word, he just stares. The sound of that voice, so rough and deep, is extremely familiar and makes him ache in his chest, but he ignores it for now and tries to listen to what the other actually has to say. "You put the whole mission in danger!"

There is another shot fired at them and, this time, it's James pulling Steven down so the bullet won't fly through his skull. It takes James a minute to put together his equipment, then, they flee the location. Their motel room is on the other side of the city and they don't talk until they get there.

While James hides his weapon under the bed, Steven stands in the door and tries to slow down his rapid heartbeat. When James frowns at him again, he finds it even harder than before to discipline himself.

"He would have killed you," he manages to say after a long, long silence, but James' face doesn't change. "You never tell me anything, I wouldn't have known what to do if you were dead!"

"You know the location of the nearest safehouse, you would have gone there!" James tries to keep his voice down but is not exactly successful, then, he steps to the window with a frustrated sigh. "I am sure we are made now."

"But we have to finish the mission," Steven suddenly remembers everything he's been told since he can remember. The mission, the mission, the mission. It always comes first, they can never fail, they have to let each other die if it means the mission is in danger.

And now, Steven managed to not give a damn about any of these in two seconds.

"We can't finish the mission. We have to get out of here," James walks back to the bed and pulls out the weapons, locking them away carefully. Steven doesn't have much, only a bag that's already in his hands. James rushes towards the door and Steven nearly walks into his back when the brunet abruptly stops. There is a soft click on the other side and James drops his weapons right before yelling: "Get down!"

Steven listens and, not even a second later, the sound of gunshots fills the air.

  
*

  
There is a woman who keeps yelling mean things at the man with the goatee, and Steven doesn't like her. He feels sore, sore like a man would feel while being starved, denied water, denied everything. He feels pain, like a man whose head had been held under water way too many times would. He feels cold, and he starts to lose memories of how warmth even feels. There is no warmth, none at all. Only this woman and her yells, and Steven closes his eyes.

She speaks German.

"He was your responsibility! You were supposed to train him, make him useful to us and send him out to the field only then! I can't remember ever ordering you to create a child, a helpless, scared child who is afraid of the sound of a shotgun! You went completely out of your mind, Aleksander!"

They said it was a punishment that they didn't make him forget the last mission, a punishment for failing. All Steven can wonder is whether James receives the same punishments or he's already out on the next mission without him.

He keeps thinking, 'Who is going to save him from a bullet now that I'm not there?' Then, they push his head under water again and he chokes. They say they will wash the fear out of him this way, and a part of him wishes that they could really do that. Another part just wants to scream, but he knows not to open his mouth.

"He saved the Winter Soldier!" the man tries to reason with her. It only occurs to Steven now that he understands German. He wonders how. "He also proved useful later. The Winter Soldier couldn't have taken down those men on his own."

"The Winter Soldier wouldn't have fucked up the mission in the first place!" she yells and Steven stares at the ceiling. "They can't serve together anymore, Aleksander. This is not the outcome you promised."

"They work together well. Given their shared experiences in the past, you can't deny that-"

"I don't care about their shared experiences! My men had to go there and clean up your mess, and now the entire White House is sneering in our face. Two Soviet assassins trying to murder the vice-president while on vacation? Because that's what the newpapers are filled with now, Aleksander, trust me, I know every single article by heart by now!"

"They can't blame it on the Motherland. They have no proof."

"Proof? You want proof? How about the fucking red star on your asset's shoulder? Is that good enough for you?"

Steven never learns the outcome of the conversation. He either dozes off or the sedatives kick in because he slowly loses consciousness and only wakes to pain, excruciating pain that he can't stand without screaming from the top of his lungs, then, he forgets about the conversation he overheard. He forgets about the mission, about his failure, about James.

He forgets his own name.

  
*

  
He doesn't smile after that. Not at the base and not on missions. He focuses on succeeding with all he's got, and it seems to work out for him well. He can't remember how he failed last time, but he remembers pain and cold glares thrown at him. He decides he can't let that happen again.

It's not only James doing the work now. They have an unspoken agreement, some kind of dynamics between them, almost akin to a division of labour. It doesn't bother Steven anymore that James is not talking to him, because he doesn't need to talk either, and they can work with each other in complete silence. One glance is enough to sign if something's about to go wrong and Steven never shoves people out of the bullets' ways again (not like he remembers ever doing anything like that). He gets shot without trying anyway.

The first time he gets shot during a mission, he doesn't even realize he's bleeding until they're back at base. It was a local mission, not too far from base somewhere in Siberia, and the doctors are quite impressed Steven could even walk so many miles with a bullet bored into him in such a sensitive place. It leaves a tiny scar on his inner thigh where it went in, but Steven doesn't care. He hardly cares about anything since his last wipe, and he's not that interested about scars anyway.

The second time he's shot, James has to take the bullet out of him. It's his arm, not a very deep shot but it's clean and he endures the other's ministrations without making a sound. They don't talk at all, and they haven't talked since that ominose mission that went wrong. Steven isn't bothered by the silence, but he shoots James a thankful glance when they are done. James doesn't even seem to notice.

When the third time comes around, Steven hasn't been wiped for weeks now. He remembers the last time he's been shot and, even though this bullet goes through his right shoulder entirely, shattering bones on its way, he thinks he could endure it just like the last time.

He doesn't realize how wrong he is until they get back to their room and James starts tending to him.

Steven really tries to keep himself from talking, but he guesses it's the pain that makes him speak this time.

"How come you never get shot?" he asks James on a trembling voice while the brunet carefully picks the remnants of Steven's clothes out of the wound, and the blond tries to hide a sob with a laughter. It's extremely weak.

James doesn't respond and Steven sighs. He feels the salty sweat rolling down his temples and he wipes his face with his free hand. The other one is too busy twisting the fabric of his trousers with whitened fingers, and Steven tries not to shake too violently. It feels like fever creeping up his spine and he tries to solve the mystery that he knows how fever feels but he never actually experienced one - he fails. Nothing can stay on his mind for too long, and he knows he's going crazy.

Which is another mystery, after all, how would he know what crazy feels like?

"I bet you've never been shot. I've been shot twice now," Steven chuckles lightly but it's empty and he has no idea where it came from in the first place. He really wishes James could at least crack a small smile, or even spare a look at him, but he doesn't even acknowledge that Steven was just talking to him.

It's not only the pain that numbs the blond now, it's also fear of the unknown, of more pain, of failing, of being tortured again, just like the last time, and he feels something hot and salty mixing with his sweat. James' glance actually drops to his cheeks for a moment, but he returns to his shoulder in a second and Steven lets out a shaky sigh, his eyes falling closed.

"Could you please talk to me? I know it's not allowed, but... I really need to hear a voice besides the ones in my head. _Please._ "

It's such a small plea that Steven can't even believe he actually said it, but the surprise in James' eyes clearly shows that the blond didn't only think of the words but also spoke them. Their gazes meet for a long moment and the brunet's hand doesn't move, it only hovers over Steven's injury, then, he blinks softly. There might be a small nod as well, but Steven's not sure he didn't just imagine that.

"You've been shot three times, actually," James says quietly. Steven's eyes widen in surprise.

"Three times?"

"You might not... remember the first time," James shrugs and goes back to the injury. Steven furrows his brows in confusion, trying to remember the shot he must've forgotten about. After all, why would James lie about something like that? It doesn't exactly matter to him how many times Steven was shot, right?

"It must be my amnesia. The doctors keep telling me it's not strange if I have gaps."

James' face doesn't change, but the antiseptic in his hand shakes a little. He pours some on a cotton pad, then, he looks into Steven's eyes for a second.

"It's going to hurt," he murmurs.

Steven actually wants to say it's okay, that he can deal with it, but James is already cleaning the wound and the blond nearly bites his tongue off as he tries to hold the scream in. His entire body tenses and he only realises that he's holding onto James' metal arm when the fingers curl around his shoulder to push him down a little. It's an unusual weight on Steve's shoulder, not too warm and not too cold, but it manages to steady him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, his eyes falling closed as his lungs all but collapse inside him.

"On my very first mission, I was shot in the stomach," James says casually, immediately earning Steven's curious gaze on him. Their eyes never meet, though. James keeps cleaning the wound with a steady hand. "I can't remember how it happened, but I still have the scar. Apparently, I barely made it back to base. I almost bled out."

The way James puts it, Steven feels like smiling, but he knows better than that. He keeps watching James' face instead, the concentration in his eyes as he makes sure Steven's shoulder is tended to.

"On which mission did you lose your arm?"

The blond hoped the question wouldn't sound as sharp as it did in his head but, if anything, it sounds even worse. James' hand freezes and there is something unreadable on his face, like he can see something that Steven can't. He stays like that for long seconds and Steven's sure he should apologize, but the brunet finally blinks and takes a shaky breath before returning to Steven's injury.

"I don't know."

Steven knows he must have hurt the other's feelings because the weight of the metal arm is gone from his shoulder and he suddenly feels way too light, a very familiar feeling he doesn't like at all. When James starts stitching, it doesn't really hurt anymore. The blond stares into space in front of him, wishing he could remember things that James remembers, but he knows it's useless. He was told not to force remembering anyway. If it wants to come back, it will, that's how the doctors put it.

By the time the brunet finishes, Steven feels almost exhausted, and that never really happened to him before. James notices as well, because he tells the other to lie down and get some sleep.

"It's my turn at the window tonight," Steven says, sliding from the table he was sitting on. The bandage around his shoulder looks safe, holding his aching shoulder really well, and he's just about to thank James for his help when the other interrupts.

"You've been shot today. If you want to be any help, you go to sleep."

"But you haven't slept yesterday," Steven shakes his head and is surprised to see actual emotions on James' face, even if it's only annoyance.

"Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass, Rogers?"

The last word leaves both of them breathless for a moment and they stare at each other with wide eyes. How can it sound so familiar when it's most certainly not? And why is Steven's heart beating like crazy, even though it must be nothing but a misunderstanding or an accident?

Probably because James' face clearly says that it wasn't. It meant something. Only neither of them know what it means exactly.

"Just go to sleep," James breaks the stunned silence and turns towards the window, pulling a chair over there. When he sits down, with his back to Steven, the blond knows it's the end of the conversation and he won't hear another word from James that night.

When he wakes the next morning, his eyes burning from dehydration, he sees James packing their stuff in hectic pace. He doesn't say anything, but Steven knows it's time to go.

He never says anything about their conversation back at the base, and he secretly hopes he won't forget about it the next morning. He smiles up at the ceiling when he doesn't.

  
*

  
James does.

There are two more missions between Steve getting shot and James magically forgetting everything about it. During those missions, they talk even more, exchange memories they can muster up and James starts calling the blond Steve. It's nice, having a nickname, and he decides to go with it, mostly because it feels familiar and he is sure it has to do something with his lost memories.

They come to the conclusion that they don't have last names, even though that would be better to call each other while they are out on actual mission, and they even laugh about jokes once or twice. Like the sun coming out from behind dark clouds, that's how Steve would describe James' laughter. He only witnesses it once or twice but it sticks with him, hell, it even keeps him awake. One part because it's so beautiful, one part because it wakes memories inside him.

Memories of the faceless man from his nightmares, only this time the man isn't falling.

Whenever Steve regains memories, it feels safer. He shares the memories with James, because who else could he share them with, and James listens to him, sometimes with a glance that stares into space, sometimes with an amused smile. The missions don't seem so boring and slow anymore, Steve aims and shoots better, and they wrap everything much quicker, earning themselves extra hours before they go back to base. They don't do much, they just sit around in their room and talk, talk about things they could never talk about at the base.

Steve would risk saying they are becoming friends, and he knows that it's huge, because he doesn't have any other friends besides James. He's a partner and a friend.

Right until he's not.

Steve can hardly keep his face straight and his limbs from fidgeting when they prepare him for their next mission, this time a long undercover in France. They are going by train, they take out the target within two weeks, then, they are back in Russia. It's simple, a bit slow but worth the waiting, and they should be back soon. If something goes wrong, the safehouse is in Rouen, but Steve doesn't really pay attention, he just pretends to. His mind is at a completely different place already, laughing somewhere with James, preferably, and he can barely walk properly as he's led out of the room.

It's the basic procedure: they prepare them in different rooms, give them the intel they need and, after one last look from the man with the goatee, they are free to go. The man is standing in the same room where he's been waiting for them since day one, but James is nowhere to be seen when Steve arrives. The man smiles at him, his hands folded in his lap, and Steve tries to hide his confusion, staring down at the ground.

"Do you feel ready, Steven?" the man asks suddenly and Steve looks up, maybe with too many emotions on his face. He wills himself to seem absolutely neutral and he nods, earning the same movement from his supervisor in return. "Very good. James wasn't ready to leave just yet, so we needed to make sure he would stay focused on the mission."

It could sound like a kindhearted gesture even, but the moment Steve lays eyes on James, he knows it isn't. Steve could only regain a few, short tidbits from his memories, but he certainly knows how James looked when they first met in this room, before their first mission.

This is how he looks like now. And Steve knows it doesn't mean anything good.

They get on the train under supervision, but once the train leaves the station and is on its way towards Paris, Steve can't keep silent anymore. He drops the facade of the obedient assassin and leans forward, studying James' face.

"What happened to you?" he asks quietly, even though they are alone in the cabin. James is staring out of the window, not paying attention to Steve at all, and the blond feels something very uncomfortable growing in his chest. "James."

The brunet reacts to that, though, and he turns towards Steve with a blank face. There is even a touch of anger in his eyes and Steve sits back in surprise, his jaw slightly hanging.

"What are you doing?" James asks coldly. His voice is rough, and Steve shivers. He sounds like he was screaming.

"I'm making a conversation," Steve answers bluntly, watching as James' eyes darken. "You don't remember me, do you?"

The blond isn't exactly surprised when he feels metal fingers curl around his throat. James' face is only a few inches away from his and their hot breaths mingle in the space between them, and Steve's eyes fall closed. He doesn't struggle for air, he knows it's useless.

"I don't know what kind of games you try to play with me, but I highly advise that you don't get us made or I'm going to kill you in your sleep, is that clear?"

James doesn't wait until Steve answers, he just sits back in his seat and continues staring out of the window. Steve slowly calms his breath and his rapid heartbeat, then, he opens his mouth only to close it again.

 _Amnesia my ass,_ he thinks to himself and stares out of the window as well.

  
*

  
They've been sitting in a car for 5 hours and spying on a married couple when James finally decides to go back to the hotel. Steve feels sore and his mouth feels like cotton from not talking more than two words all day by the time he can close the bathroom door behind him.

He really hopes the hot shower could wash all the confusion and worry out of him, but the thought only reminds him of a painful torture he had to endure. He turns the water off and changes into soft, sleeping clothes when he comes out of the bathroom. He expects James to stand at the window, stare out of it like he's been doing since the day they arrived, but this is not the sight that welcomes Steve now.

James is sitting on the edge of the bed, face buried in his palms, elbows propped on his knees, and he isn't moving. He shows his back to Steve and doesn't even seem to breathe at all.

The blond wonders if he should say something, break the silence that's been driving him (and, in his opinion, James) crazy for the past week, but he doesn't have to. James does it for him.

"It fucking hurt, Steve," he mutters, his voice low and trembling and Steve freezes where he stands. He literally can't move, he just stares, burning a hole on the nape of James' neck. "It hurt so much, I hoped I could die. I hoped they would just kill me."

The blond stands in one spot, too afraid to even breathe, but his lungs eventually give in and he inhales deeply. James moves at the sound and looks up, his eyes red and his face twisted in a painful expression. Steve feels his stomach jump inside his belly and he swallows.

"They took all of it, Steve. They took everything."

Out of the two of them, James always seemed the tougher, the one always on the ground, the one with the head at the task. Steve never doubted James, not even once, and now, this symbol of strength and permanence, the only thing in Steve's life that he knows he could never forget, is falling to pieces. How is he supposed to fix that? How is he supposed to fix him if he can't even fix himself?

The first broken sob escapes James then, and that's all it takes for Steve to finally move. He approaches the brunet, sitting down on the bed next to him. The first thing he notices is his iron fist clenched in his lap and, after some hesitation, Steve decides to reach for it. It's cool against his skin, but, once James notices the touch (Steve isn't actually sure he could feel it too), the fingers ease and it's palm against palm now. Steve feels his heart beating in his throat as the fingers lace, entwine with each other, and it seems like such a perfect fit that his throat narrows at the sight.

"They took mine, too," he whispers, his thumb gently brushing against the metal. He can hear every breath James takes, and they are shallow, hot breaths, stroking Steve's face. "They must be dangerous."

James doesn't respond, he only squeezes Steve's hand lightly. The blond cracks a smile, but he keeps staring at their hands, trying to burn the image into his brain.

"We are speaking to each other in English," Steve continues on the same tone, his eyes slightly narrowing as his brain works relentlessly. "And I feel smaller in my skin when I'm next to you. I think I knew you long before this. Maybe when I was a child, that would explain the feeling, don't you think?"

Steve never noticed James gently laying his head on his shoulder and falling asleep, but the blond smiles at the sight. His eyelashes cast shadows that make them look way longer than they are, and his face swims in a golden light that makes him seem so young, even though he used to claim on their last mission how old he feels. Steve knows James would want him to wake him but he finds that he doesn't have the heart. He lays him down on the bed instead, more gently than a mother would put down a baby in his crib and, not feeling like letting go of his hand, he props himself up against pillows and decides to guard themselves like this.

If James presses his face against Steve's thigh, Steve never tells anyone.

  
*

  
They decide to act neutral when they get back so they wouldn't get in trouble. The last time they see each other, Steve gives him a small smile because it's not unusual from him. James just gazes after him, even when Steve is long gone.

When they meet again, it's 2014.

  
*

  
Steve has been wiped before and after cryostasis. He has been reprogrammed as well, after all, many things changed since the fifties. He walked out of his not so familiar room with all the knowledge on Cold War, Madonna and HIV, but he knew something was missing. Something had to be missing.

He meets a man with ginger hair, a grey suit and glasses, but he still misses something. Maybe a beard, or a goatee. The white capes stayed, they are familiar, but none of the faces that wear them.

"Do you know your name?" the man asks him and Steve stares. He says the only thing that's true.

"Names are irrelevant."

The man frowns but Steve still doesn't look at him. He feels too old to be this empty. Something is very, very wrong. And he's very, very cold.

"Names are very important. Yours especially is," he shoves his hands into his pockets and slowly steps closer. "Your name is Steven. Steven Rogers. You worked for the Soviet Union, but now, you only work for HYDRA."

Rogers. Soviet Union. They all sound so familiar, but they still don't pick Steve's interest. The man sighs with frustration and waves to the man standing next to him. Then, the man disappears and the doors behind Steve open. He doesn't turn to look who enters the room, not even when the man is standing next to him. All Steve can see from the corner of his eye is black clothes, dark hair and white skin, but nothing else.

He can't remember something, and it's bothering him. Bothering him way too much to care about anything.

"You are partners from now on. You used to work together, I hope it's going to work out now. You are going on your first mission tonight."

Steve slowly looks up at the word 'mission' and he blinks. He feels someone staring at him, but he doesn't look back. Instead, he fixes his eyes on the ginger man and waits, like he expects the other to tell him what he's missing.

He's missing so much. And what's worse, it feels like it's only in an arm's reach.

  
*

  
When the van drops them on 17th Avenue, Steve takes the weapon they hand him and walks across the street. The orders echo in his head clearly and he follows them, carefully listening to his surroundings. Any sign of the target approaching or even changing directions could be gone in a moment, and he knows better than to fail.

The man who was assigned to be his partner is a few steps behind, following him in a comfortable pace. They are not in a rush, they are headed to the opposite direction that the van went in. The air is sultry and it's even worse underneath the black clothes and the mask, but Steve ignores it. He keeps the target on his mind and only stops when he reaches the corner, cautiously staying in the dark under a vault. Cars pass by and his partner stops next to him. They wait.

"Steve."

The sound is so careful, so rough that Steve barely catches it. It's even harder to believe where it came from.

He tries to ignore ever hearing it, but then, he hears it again.

"Steve."

He slowly turns his head to look at the man next to him. Steve can't see his face, it's so well hidden behind the black mask, but the wind blows his long, brown locks that brush his shoulders and, somehow, he sees that other's face anyway. He's sure he hasn't seen it before, but now he does, and it confuses him.

"I need you to listen to me," the man with a metal arm says. Steve notices the silver limb only now and he stares for a moment before returning his eyes to the other's face. His partner stares right into the space in front of them, but Steve is sure he's talking to him. And he's also sure that's not allowed. "We cannot eliminate the target."

The words come like a punch in the gut and Steve blinks. Only his mouth is covered so the other should see his shock, even if only from the corner of his eye. He feels a wave of betrayal, because surely, the other's words are ridiculous and against everything they've ever been told to do. Also, there is a different kind of betrayal, a kind that completely takes his mind off the concentration. A truck drives by and there is the faint sound of sirens in the background, but Steve just simply doesn't care.

"They washed your brain and took your memories," the man continues. It feels like something is itching inside Steve but he gives in to the urge to shake his head, more and more violently. He tears his eyes from the other, even when the metal armed man removes his mask and finally turns to him. The realization is like a cold shower when the actual face fits the one Steve saw on his mind. It makes him heave immediately but he bites his panic back. "My name is James, you have to-"

The words fade out abruptly when the sound of a car crash reaches them, quickly followed by the screech of tires. Steve feels the expectant gaze on his face as his fingers tighten around his weapon, then, he's moving against his will. Soon, his will catches up to him and he ignores how his partner is repeating his name, like it's something important.

It's not relevant. It's never been.

The target is approaching and Steve is in the middle of the road. He counts the feet and he swings the weapon against his chest, propping it up against his torso and aiming. His instinct tells him when to pull the trigger and he does.

When there is the sound of a gun, it takes Steve a second to realize that, thanks to the bullet in his thigh, he missed the shot. The bomb goes off under a different car, killing a different man, and the target is headed right towards him. It's a failure, that's everything Steve can think of as he feels hot blood trickle down his calf, and the black Chevrolet is only two seconds away.

It takes a partner, a desperate shout, a push to the left and a real amount of luck to stay alive. And also, to fail completely.

  
*

  
They sit Steve in a chair and take the bullet out of his thigh when armed guards bring James in. He is stripped bare, just like Steve, only with a trouser on. Their eyes meet and Steve looks away first, staring down at his thigh. The itching feeling is there again and he tries to shut it off. Not having a mission to focus on, though, leaves too much space for thoughts to roam freely in his mind. Telling them to stop is not enough.

The guards don't leave James' side while doctors keep looking at the metal arm. They mutter about it being in perfect condition and they only run off when the doors swing open. More people flow in and Steve doesn't miss how James tenses when the ginger man, their supervisor stops in front of him. It's like Steve isn't even in the room, and he finds himself wondering what's going to happen.

What happens when they fail? They told them not to, but what happens?

"Mission report," the ginger man orders and James looks up at him. It seems like defiance in his eyes and he's still tense. Steve watches intently.

"Mission failed," James says, his voice cold and indifferent. The ginger man doesn't even flinch. "The target is still alive."

The man stays dangerously calm as he turns to Steve. The blond could even call the smile on his lips kind, but he doesn't know what kindness looks like. He's not sure anymore.

"How did the mission fail?" he asks, his voice an octave deeper than before.

 _He shot me,_ Steve wants to say. _He shot me, he told me not to eliminate the target, he is not to be trusted. He spoke to me, he broke the rules. He is James, James, James. But_ who _is he?_

He presses his lips together, standing the ginger man's heavy gaze. He wants to answer, but he doesn't. His eyes flick to James, but he isn't looking. The tension left his shoulders but, instead, it entered his jaw. He looks torn, confused, and Steve can't help but feel the same way. How is he supposed to listen to a torn and confused man, believe anything he says or asks, if Steve is just as torn and confused?

How is he supposed to trust _anyone_ when he doubts _everyone_?

The man slowly realizes that he isn't going to get clear answers so he chuckles lightly and shakes his head, taking his glasses off. When he swings his right arm and punches James in the face with his fist, James doesn't make a sound and the itching intensifies inside Steve. Then, the ginger man slowly starts wiping his glasses with his sleeve.

"What I can gather from your lack of communication is that... The brave policemen of our town and the men of HYDRA managed to cause more harm to Nick Fury than the two of you combined," he says, slightly out of breath but successfully keeping his anger low in his voice. It only starts shaking at the last few words. "And they are human."

The second punch comes and, when James slightly loses his balance, two guards are immediately there to hold him by his arms. Steve knows how useless that is, given that flesh and bones against metal is like swimming against the current. Or even more impossible of a match.

"I could punish you, you know. Both of you. But what could I take from you, huh?" the man laughs. The sound is like acid and Steve watches him, meeting his eyes. They are cold and piercing, reminding him of someone else he can't remember. The itching is getting unbearable by now and he tenses. The doctors hold his thighs down a little tighter and continue working the bullet out of his bone. "I've been generous with you. And for what? For failure?"

Steve can't really decipher the next few words because the man is kicking James too hard to utter the words properly. It's pure anger now and Steve feels a rush of protectiveness wash over him, especially when James is on his knees, taking every hit without a word. His bitter, blue eyes are on Steve and the blond watches, watches and listens.

_They washed your brain and took your memories._

_What could I take from you, huh?_

The pain suddenly becomes disturbingly present in his inner thigh and he winces. He doesn't want to look down, to look away from James, but the ginger man takes out all his anger on him and finally stops. He stumbles over to a chair and falls right into it, and Steve finally looks down at his thigh. The doctors just finished the stitches and Steve swallows.

The shot was a _reminder_. Suddenly, his shoulder and his arm start to ache, like a phantom pain is trying to break through his skin and he takes a deep breath before he looks back at James.

_I bet you've never been shot._

James is being pulled up from the floor and, even though he's bleeding from multiple places, he manages to stand on his own feet without falling over. It's impressive and Steve just stares, his jaw slightly hanging.

"How long has the Winter Soldier been out of cryostasis?" the ginger man asks and he sounds exhausted. No one knows in the first few seconds which one of them should answer, but the doctor who took the bullet from Steve's thigh decides to speak up in the end.

"A month, sir."

"Then wipe him. I don't need him to get any ideas. Is Rogers stable?"

Steve doesn't react when they say his name. He only has eyes for James. He's wondering whether the things he's seeing are memories or only remnants of dreams inside the ice. He cannot decide.

"He is, sir. The serum is working, his wound should be gone in about three da-"

"Are they capable of working together?" the man cuts the doctor off and there is silence afterwards.

"I do think so, yes. I can't see why not, sir," the doctor answers and Steve can hear the confusion in his voice. It doesn't change the sceptic tone of the ginger man when he finally says, "Take him," and with that, James is gone.

Then, they tell Steve about the gift they are going to give him. Courtesy of an Alexander Pierce, apparently. It only requires a small surgical intervention, they say, and it's all going to be fine.

Steve learns that failing means receiving gift wrapped punishment and cruciating pain. When his throat is bleeding from screaming too hard, when he's out of breath, James is always there to do it for him. Only two rooms down the corridor.

  
*

  
"How much can you remember?"

It's the first time that Steve speaks up, but he doesn't turn to look at James. They are sitting in an Alfa Romeo, waiting for their target to leave her house so they could follow her. In her early 30s, short black hair, impressive history as such a young agent. They are not to engage with her, only to follow her.

 _If you have to hang onto the car frame, you are going to do just that,_ the ginger man told them earlier before they left the base. They chose to steal a car instead. Seemed easier.

Steve can feel James' watchful gaze on him, just like he did so many times in the last few hours. It shouldn't be this comforting, to know that he's right next to him all the time, but Steve can't help what he feels. He can only act like he's indifferent.

"Only a few things," James answers quietly and turns his face back to the windshield. "Some came back naturally, some came back in nightmares, some were told me."

"By whom?"

This time, it's James ignoring Steve's gaze on him, and he doesn't answer. What he does instead is tightening his fingers around the steering wheel, but it's such a small movement that Steve barely catches it. It's there, though, and Steve makes a mental note of it for himself. The bruises on his face are still purple and blue, but Steve can barely see them in the darkness.

"They took your memories as well. How can you remember more than me? You were wiped two days ago," Steve continues. He decides not to push the questions the other might not want to answer. It wouldn't do much good, and he can still find it out later. James might be cautious, or he might not trust Steve enough. Either way, pushing it won't bring Steve closer to the truth, and James is the only one telling him the truth. And that's a relief.

"It's not a blessing, Steve," James finally says. It earns a confused look from the blond. "To remember. It's even more painful than having your memories taken away."

"But what do you remember?"

"Pain. Murder," James breathes in. His flesh fingers are whitening around the wheel and Steve watches him carefully. James looks angry and sad. Very, very sad. Steve wonders what that feels like. "Missions, missions, following each other without a moment to catch your breath. You were there and then you weren't. They put you in ice and sent me out all alone, kept wiping my brain clean until I couldn't remember my name. I think they woke you sometimes, when I was the one in ice, but I'm not sure. We never met after 1953, not until now."

Steve feels like all of the air is sucked out of his lungs as he stares at the brunet. It takes him a few seconds until his mind starts working properly again, recalling images he always thought were just the tricks of his brain. Now he knows they are real, they are memories, and all of them are about James.

He shudders, and his gaze gets lost in empty space.

"They spoke Russian," he mutters. He can barely hear his own voice, his heartbeat is drumming so loudly in his ears. "I can't remember ever learning Russian."

"You speak eight different languages," James says carefully, and their eyes meet. Steve breathes in through his lips and he feels his chest tighten. It's the first time he's looked upon like this, and he can immediately tell that it's kindness. That, he can recognize. "They gave you knowledge on everything. You haven't been awake for years, but you know everything that happened during that time. They put everything into your head."

"Why?" Steve's voice cracks and he has to swallow. "Why would they take the memories? Why would they give me knowledge? Why would they take your arm?"

The last bit visibly shocks James but the bewildered expression on his face disappears quickly. It leaves emptiness behind, and Steve has a few moments to labour his breathing. It comes out shallow and hectic, but he manages to keep it under control.

"They didn't take my arm," James answers, and Steve knows he won't reveal much else. Steve decides not to cling onto the subject so he just turns to look out of the windshield. He can't focus on the mission, not anymore.

It's not relevant. It's never been. Not really.

The target steps out of her house a few minutes later. The black car they are sitting in blends in with the others that are parked by the sidewalk and she doesn't notice them. Steve has a faint echo in his head, orders to follow this woman, follow her until she leads them to Nick Fury. Then, there is James' voice, telling him not to eliminate the target, and Steve tenses against his seat, closing his eyes for a second.

Every cell in his body screams at him, but it's like they speak all the languages that Steve doesn't know. His mind feels way too crowded and he squeezes his eyes shut.

_Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass, Rogers?_

"Hey."

He opens his eyes when James speaks to him, only to find that the target has driven away. He's breathing heavily and he's looking at James like the brunet is the last thing in the world he could cling onto. When James smiles at him, his heartbeat picks up and he exhales, a long, slow breath that leaves his body eased and his mind numb.

"We failed the mission again," Steve whispers, staring down at the metal hand that now rests in James' lap. He hears the sound of that arm in his ear, every little click and movement inside, and he remembers damaging it. He remembers breaking the bones in the other one, he remembers the sounds of choking in the back of his mind.

He shivers again, but he's still numb. It's a blessing.

"There is no mission, Steve," James says quietly, bowing his head until he can look into the blond's eyes. When he smiles again, Steve feels like he's watching the sun coming out from behind dark clouds. "Not anymore."

  
*

  
Steve learns that night that Alexander Pierce's gift was six bugs under his skin, or, more precisely, inside his bones. He remembers the pain and his stomach turns.

They have 24 hours to finish the mission. They are 20 hours in.

"It's going to hurt," James says with the blade in his hand. Steve wills himself to stay calm, to keep lying flat on his stomach while someone is towering over him with a knife. He doubts he could ever trust a person with this, ever again.

He nods into the pillow and buries his face in it. Turns out it was a good idea. They have to stop after four bugs are out, Steve is shaking that hard. He's glad James can't see his face. He trusts the brunet, but he's not yet ready for the humiliation that showing his tears would bring.

When he can't hold back the sobs anymore and all he sees behind closed eyelids is red, James gently buries his fingers in his hair and keeps his hand there, warm and steady against Steve's skull. It numbs the pain for a second and Steve manages to catch his breath.

"I'm so sorry," James whispers and Steve gives a silent sound. It was supposed to be a word, something akin to 'it's alright', but it's just a miserable whimper, so quiet Steve hopes James didn't hear it. A thumb is drawing soothing circles against the nape of his neck and Steve opens his eyes. The fact that he remembers this feeling seems odd, but it's way too nice, way too comforting.

He knows this pain from earlier, and the memory of his very early nightmares comes back to him. The comfort of James' palm in his hair is intense but he relives the pain, the pain that watching someone falling from a train causes. The man has been falling without a face so far, but now, he has James' terrified expression plastered all over his face and Steve quietly cries into the pillow.

 _So this is how he lost the arm._ He wonders if James remembers but, then again, he probably does.

He sinks deeper into the matress and waits until his breathing is back to normal, until the urge to cry is gone. Then, James slowly withdraws his hand and picks up the blade. Steve's eyes close and he squeezes the blanket between his fingers. When he feels hot blood running down his sides and the tip of the knife working against his shoulderblade, he bites on the pillow and screams.

They are 23 hours in when James tells Steve how to remove the metal arm. They have to be quick. Removed bugs won't go unnoticed at the base, and they only have so long before they are found.

"They are attached to my spine, it's going to be harder to take them out," James says quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Steve carefully as he places the metal arm on the table next to them. Steve tries to will his hands not to shake, but he's still aching and his vision is blurring. He doesn't have the luxury to fail, though. He can fail any mission, but not this. Not the most important mission of them all.

No president, no king, no one has ever been _this_ important before.

He takes a deep breath before curling his fingers around the knife, taking a look under the metal plate that usually holds the arm in place. He listens to James' instructions and the urging to catch up because they are out of time, but it doesn't stop him from looking up at the brunet one last time.

There is nervousness in the smile that James gives him, but Steve draws strength from it and gives a small nod.

When the first groan comes, a hundred screams follow, and Steve feels like throwing up. The apologies never cease to fall from his lips, not until all five bugs are removed and smashed underneath his feet.

After Steve puts the arm back on, James' head lolls forward and against Steve's shoulder. The blond freezes for a second, mostly due to the shock caused by a swift tidbit of a memory, then, he wraps an arm around James and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

They breathe in unison until it's time to go. They never look back.

  
*

  
When James takes him to New York, Steve goes without a word.

They move every two days and wear clothes that feel soft and comfortable but still manage to hide them from the eyes they aim to avoid. They eat food that's warm and drink tea. The memory comes back to Steve, reminding him of his favourite flavour, so James buys him that kind the next time. He sees himself as skinny and sickly when he looks into a mirror, a new habit he never considered necessary to do. He watches himself, the lines on his face, the stubble he had since day one, the blond hair that is shorter now that he cut it. He watches the pink lips and the blue eyes, and the latter holds a flame he never knew he had. He is getting used to the sight, right until James is there next to him. Then, Steve watches him and only him.

When James takes him to a woman with fiery red hair, Steve goes without a word.

He feels restless, seeing more and more strange people within arm's reach, but they are unarmed and look at them with wonder. She introduces them to the rest of the 'team' but the names don't stick with Steve and he's glad James is standing so close to him.

It turns out they helped James resist the brainwashing by a technology that the equipment at Hydra never caught. He failed a mission in Richmond, Virginia when the people of S.H.I.E.L.D. brought him in, recognizing him and giving him help. He didn't have to live without regained memories after that, and he worked as a double agent successfully for several years. Steve listens in awe, not saying anything.

He just wishes he could've been there.

They promise them that Alexander Pierce wouldn't find them, that they are safe and amongst friends. James looks at them seriously, but he actually smiles at the red haired woman - Steve can actually recall her name, Natasha - with kindness, as if he knows her. It's the same kindness Steve received before. The blond catches himself staring more often than not and he tries to ignore the sourness he feels in his chest whenever James doesn't look back.

He remembers that this is what sadness feels like. He remembers feeling it before.

The memories come back to him day by day, bit by bit. Voices come back first, then images, then the images start moving and match with the sounds. Visiting an exhibition in Washington also helps a great deal.

Steve is reluctant at first, going back to the city where they became fugitives, but their new friends tell them it's safe. They go with Steve and James, escorting them to the so called Smithsonian. They both wear baseball caps and at least three layers of clothes as they walk through the crowd. The crowd doesn't bother James but it bothers Steve so he stays close to the other man.

They stop in front of every board and read everything. They soon find out it's more about Steve than about James, but James only smiles and it means it's all fine. The words 'Captain America' bring out the itching feeling inside Steve again, but, the moment he sees an old picture of himself with a huge, vibranium shield in one hand, the feeling eases. He can almost feel the weight of the shield on his arm and he stares, as if he's mesmerized.

"I remember," he breathes, feeling James' gaze upon him immediately. He can't turn to look back at him, he can't tear his eyes from the photo. "I can... feel it. Under my fingertips."

He touches his fingertips together, truly feeling every single scratch and dent, the coolness of the metal. It reminds him of holding something else, a metal hand, fingers entwined, and he is finally capable of looking back at James. His throat narrows and he silently chuckles. It sounds like a huff of breath.

"I'm Captain America," he murmurs and James' smile widens. He nods.

"You are."

They look at each other for long minutes, staying in comfortable silence until a kid recklessly runs into Steve from behind. His first instinct would be to grab the boy by the neck and push him up against the wall, but James grabs his elbow and steadies him.

"I'm sorry," the boy mutters, staring up at Steve with wide eyes. He stands there, like he's frozen to the spot, and Steve has no idea what to do or say. The boy obviously recognized him, but he says nothing.

The killer instinct is easing inside Steve after a few seconds pass, and he wants to answer but James pulls him away. The kid stares after them for long minutes. This time, it's Steve who nearly walks into the back of James, but he stops in time.

James stands in front of a different board now. It has his face plastered all over it, _'A Fallen Comrade'_ written on the top. Steve feels a wave of shock wash over him at the face in front of him, so young, so handsome, so familiar - yet, so foreign. He knows it's the same man as the one standing next to him, but it still feels like there are a thousand miles between them. Steve can't decide which one of them he should watch.

There is nothing on James' face beside the pure shock and Steve turns back to the board. He reads.

> _When Bucky Barnes first met Steve Rogers on the playgrounds of Brooklyn, little did he know that he was forging a bond that would take him to the battlefields of Europe and beyond._

Steve's heart jumps in his chest and the entire world goes silent around him. It's only the two of them in front of the board and Steve's heartbeat, pounding steadily behind his ribs.

"Bucky," he murmurs, so quietly it nearly gets lost in the noise of the people he is shutting out right now. The word tastes like honey on his tongue, like something very precious that was lost and found, like it's the center of his universe. It sounds so right that he actually repeats it, and this time, James looks at him.

He has tears in his eyes and it's Steve's turn to smile. It's fragile, but it's there.

"No wonder I always feel so small next to you," Steve says, but he can see how close Bucky is to tearing up so he quickly adds: "I mean, look at your ugly mug and how huge it is on this picture."

When Bucky laughs, it's welling with tears but it melts the ice on Steve's heart that he didn't even know was there. The cold leaves his limbs, and it's only Bucky now, his Bucky Barnes.

Winter is finally gone.

  
*

  
A year later, Alexander Pierce is dead and it's not a miracle anymore when Steve Rogers is joking. He doesn't feel naked when he wears anything other than black, he doesn't feel intimidated when someone touches or hugs him. He laughs, he cries, he watches crap TV and is even willing to take part in one of Clint's vines. (He runs when Tony starts chasing them afterwards, but he doesn't stop when Clint's caught.)

He's comfortable enough to go to the hospital and visit Peggy Carter. Most of the time she's too weak to even sit up, other times she's laughing and it's beautiful. She keeps telling him she's ready to go, but he hopes she would never go. He knows it's selfish, but he's human and assertive for his own sake. Sam teaches him how to deal with it.

Bucky is constantly there, needing him just as much as Steve needs him. It takes time until they can talk to each other in company, until they are not afraid of getting caught breaking rules. It takes time until they stop waking up to the smallest sounds, fearing it would be someone that came to hunt them. It takes time until they can fall asleep in their own beds, but, most of the time, they choose not to. They live in the Stark Tower and the beds are huge. They sleep with limbs tangled and breaths mixing in the small space between them, and Steve soon learns this is what peace means.

He never tells Bucky how he thinks of tasting his lips when he wakes sooner than the brunet in the morning. He never tells Bucky how beautiful Steve thinks he is, how he would fall to pieces without him, how Bucky is honestly the center of his universe.

He never expects Bucky to tell him first.

Ever since the moment Steve first laid eyes on Natasha, or, as Bucky calls her, Natalia, he was sure Bucky loved her. Back then, he had little memories of how it feels to truly love someone, but he soon identified his feelings for Bucky as love and, from there, it wasn't hard to notice the signs. Bucky's eyes lit up whenever he looked at Natasha, the same way Steve assumed he was looking at Bucky, and, as hard as it was, Steve tried to accept it. He never talked about it, and they had their hands full with other things. The thought never left his mind, though, keeping him awake at night, teaching him how it feels to have actual emotions, even if they cause you heartbreak.

Probably this is why the last thing he expects when Bucky walks into the kitchen one evening is the brunet grabbing his shoulders and turning him around, smashing his lips against Steve's.

Steve knows that Tony, Pepper and Clint are in the next room, he can actually hear them discussing something they are watching on TV, but the thoughts leave his mind and the sounds just disappear. All he can hear is a heartbeat drumming against him that's not his and, when he opens his lips underneath the warm, soft ones, there is a relieved sigh and a tongue pushing in between his teeth.

And _God_ , it tastes like heaven.

The kiss grows to be long and relentless and they are completely out of breath by the time they pull apart. Where there used to be darkness in the deep blue eyes, there is light now, and Steve licks his lips and smiles. He leans into the palm that cups his face.

"Took you long enough, jerk," he breathes, and even he's surprised at his words. He wonders how many things are there that he still can't remember, but, once he sees the grin growing on Bucky's face, he decides he can wait for them to come back by themselves.

He has all the time in the world now, after all. And also, a very persistent partner.


End file.
